Nakedness

A lesson from the naked spa

A lesson from the naked spa 6

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Y’all know I love me a day of clothing-free laziness at the naked spa.  (And if you didn’t know that, you can read more here. I highly suggest checking out this story of the time I was quite literally the only nude person at the naked spa. The tale is 100% true, and one of the most awful, memorable and strangely awesome experiences I’ve ever had.)

But back to the story at hand. When I found myself in Seattle last Friday with the day off from work, I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it. My sister Hayley had also taken the day off so we might spend some quality time together. And so, at the butt crack of dawn (by which I mean 10:00 am) we crawled into her 1986 Toyota and hopped on I-5 towards Lynwood. We had some naked relaxing to get to.

Hayley had never been to any spa–let alone a nude one–and seemed slightly tentative about the entire experience. I assured her she would feel right at home, and offered to pay for her day pass, just in case she didn’t end up liking it. I was more concerned about her reaction to the general spa experience as opposed to the idea of walking around naked with dozens of fleshy strangers. Hayley and I come from a family that is very comfortable with the idea of not wearing clothes.

Err…that may have come out wrong.

Let me clarify that we aren’t one of those new age families who have family meals in the buff and vacation at the nudist colony or anything. Still, I’m pretty sure one of my parents (I’ll let you guess which one) was a nude art model, and my sister and I visited our very first nude beach as elementary school students. (Perhaps this explains my desire to crash that naked resort in Mexico?) My parents have always had the very European mindset that “It’s just a body.”  While they always encouraged modesty and adhering to social guidelines, we were also taught that the human body shouldn’t be something that is taboo or shameful.

Needless to say, Hayley took to the naked spa like a fish to water. (A naked fish to water.)

Olympus Spa actually requires you to remove all clothing before entering the spa facilities. Much like a traditional spa, they provide you with a few towels, and a robe to wear. But I’m not talking the plush robes and bath towels you see in staged stock photos and luxurious advertisements. These towels are thin, worn and basic. The robes are clinical mint green cotton with thin red stripes–they look oddly similar to the modesty covers one wears during an annual pap smear. In addition to the medical-inspired robes, patrons are required to wear a pale pink shower cap to prevent hair from clogging the various drains. The result is an army of relaxed, naked women, walking around barefoot in identical uniforms. Hair is hidden, makeup is absent, and there’s a serious abundance of tattoos.

“It kind of feels like we’re in prison!” Hayley remarked as we waited in line for a spot in the spa cafeteria.

“Yeah,” I responded, “A very relaxed, zen prison with lots of tea and throw pillows, but I totally see the similarities.”

“I think I would do well in prison. It feels like one giant, naked sisterhood.” Hayley added.

“Yeah…but real prison doesn’t have delicious Korean food or a 150 degree mud and jade room.” I reminded her.

“I meant I would do well in spa prison.” she elaborated.

I smiled and nodded. The fact was, Hayley had passed the naked spa prison test with flying colors. She was worry-free, comfortable, and wasn’t letting the sweaty pink shower cap cramp her style. Dare I say it, she had made the nude spa her b****.

After a lovely lunch of steamed dumpling soup and Korean BBQ shrimp, Hayley and I returned to the pool room for a bit of communal skinny dipping. We couldn’t help but observe the variety of women around us (in a studious way, not a creepy way) and comment on the incredible nature of the human body.

“It’s kind of amazing how our bodies are all identical, yet at the same time so completely different.” Hayley observed. “I love the vibe here,” she continued, “Everyone is comfortable and embraces who they are. I feel like everyone here really loves themself.”

She was right. As I gazed at the dozens of naked strangers sharing the pools with us, I couldn’t help but agree that each body was uniquely beautiful. Some women were tall, others were petite. Many sported athletic physiques while others were incredibly soft and curvy. Every shape and size was represented, and the variety of female physiques were all graceful and delicate in their own special way. The spa was a place to celebrate the individuality of one’s body–no one was ashamed or self-conscious. It was a community of pride and diversity.

“I feel like they should bring awkward teenage girls here on field trips.” Hayley remarked. “You know…so they could see that it’s really not that bad.”

I nodded in agreement. Instantly, my mind travelled back to the late nineties — my junior high and high school years. I remembered studying magazine photos of Jennifer Lopez and Britney Spears, sighing as I felt I would never measure up. While I was never self-conscious about my body as a young girl, I absolutely hated my nose. Keep in mind that my beak has been the size it is now since approximately 1991. While I’d argue that today, my nose is relatively proportionate to the rest of my features, as a twelve-year-old girl, my face hadn’t even come close to catching up to the size of my schnoz. I would spend hours looking at my profile in the mirror, desperately wishing I could afford a preteen rhinoplasty. My father, who I clearly inherited my nose from, would try his best to comfort me.

“Katrina,” he encouraged, “You have a beautiful nose. Once you’re older, you’re going to be more accepting of who you are and less worried about silly things like this. But until then, just remember that there are lots of things that are more important than your face, okay? Plus…Barbara Streisand has a large nose, and she’s one of the most beautiful women in the world!”

At the time, I didn’t believe him. (Partly because I had no idea who Barbara Streisand was.) Yet now that I’m older and wiser, I see that his words were full of truth. While I still struggle with my appearance and feeling comfortable in my body, I become more and more accepting of myself as the years pass. I can’t help but think that going to the naked spa as an awkward bundle of puberty may have been really good for me.

“You are so right, Hayley!” I exclaimed. “We should totally do that. Like, start a foundation where we bring young girls to the naked spa to make them feel comfortable in their own skin. We could call it ‘Awkward is Awesome’ or something! It’s genius!”

Hayley stifled a giggle before continuing. “Umm…I was kind of joking, Katrina. I don’t think you could actually bring young girls here on field trips. I mean, it would be cool if you could, but I’m pretty sure most schools would consider it sexual harassment or something.”

Oh. Right.

So much for being the naked ambassador for young, self-conscious tweens everywhere. Sigh.

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Ten Things You Don’t Know About Me 5

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One of my guilty pleasures is reading US Weekly magazine.

Us Weekly

Photo via Us Weekly

Actually…I don’t feel even slightly guilty about it, so perhaps it’s more of a simple pleasure.

I even used to have a subscription, until it mysteriously stopped arriving in the mail one week. Something tells me my husband was behind this, although he has yet to admit to it.

He also has yet to admit to the fact that he read every single issue, and had some pretty serious opinions on Suri Cruise’s fashion choices.

Anyway, one of my favorite sections in the magazine is the Hot Hollywood “25 Things You Don’t Know About Me” piece they do every week, featuring a different celebrity.

Whitney Port 25 Things You Don't Know About Me

Really, Whitney? You’ve NEVER eaten pasta? (Insert eye-roll here)

Photo via whitneyport.celebbuzz.com

Each week, as I scan through these mundane factoids about D-List celebrities, I secretly wish Us Weekly would do one of these on me.

And then I remember that I’m not famous and eat pasta on a semi-regular basis.

But today, I had an epiphany. This is my blog, and nothing is keeping me from pretending that I am a D-list celebrity who doesn’t eat pasta for a day.

So, I’ve chosen to reveal ten things you probably don’t know about me.

I would have done twenty-five, but because I tend to…um…overshare on this little blog of mine, coming up with just ten was quite a stretch.

1. I was second runner-up at the 2008 Mrs. New York America pageant

Believe it or not, I was going to try to track down a horribly embarrassing photo from this…but alas, the internet decided to swallow all evidence of me prancing about in an evening gown so that no one else might be subjected to it.

Thank you, internet.

However, if the photos were to somehow surface, you would see my not-so-happy husband on stage with me as my “escort” for the evening. I’m pretty sure he’s never been so morally opposed to anything in his life.

2. I’m a singer

By no means am I good enough to be on American Idol or anything, but I did go to college on a vocal scholarship. I’ve been singing since the age of two, and am good enough to school you in karaoke.

Sorry, but it’s the truth.

3. I’m a cat person

Believe it or not, Jolie is the first dog I’ve ever owned. In fact, when Scott brought her home, I tried to convince him to take her back after a mere two days. And then, one evening when I came home from the gym, she gave me a greeting that was similar to this and my heart melted. I’ve been carrying her around in my purse ever since.

Growing up, we always had cats. Seabass (I named her myself) was my personal favorite. She littered 19 kittens before being eaten by a raccoon in 2003.

This is the point when things went horribly awry. My dad, who happens to be a real-life cat whisperer, decided he still wanted feline companionship without having to pay for cat food. This is how he ended up stealing the neighbor’s outdoor cat. By the time I came home for the summer after my freshman year of college, “Misty” was spending upwards of 20 hours a day in our house.

Obviously, my dad would let her outside to go to the bathroom and eat food at the neighbor’s house. Over the course of two years, I don’t think he spent a single dime on food for that cat. “I provide it with love“, he argued.

The strangest part is that our neighbors were fully aware of the fact that my dad had stolen their cat. When they moved, they explained that they would have let him keep it, if it weren’t for the fact that their grandchildren were aways so excited to see it when they came for a visit.

So there you have it — I’m a cat lover turned dog person. But if you think about it, at seven pounds zero ounces, Jolie may as well be a cat, anyway.

4. I drink pickle juice

By itself.

Because it is delicious.

Drinking pickle juice

Bottoms up!

And because my blood pressure is so low, the extra sodium doesn’t seem to do much harm.

Also? I highly recommend adding a splash of pickle juice to your bloody mary. It’s to die for.

5. I was the fattest baby born in the state of Alaska during July 1984.

Nine pounds, ten ounces.

And yes, I still brag about this.

6. I used to work at McDonald’s

It was my first job, and it was terrible. Mostly because I never made it past flipping burgers. And partly because I kept getting scolded for sneaking milkshakes.

I will say this…I’ve worked in four different restaurants, and McDonald’s was by far the cleanest. Their food may be unhealthy, but at least it’s McSanitary.

7. I almost posed nude for an artistic photo shoot

This actually relates to the Mrs. New York America pageant. The guy I had hired to take my head shots was earning his master’s degree in photography, and wanted Scott and I to go bare for a series he was doing on couples.

I was actually considering it until he showed me a giant photo he had shot of a butt-naked pregnant woman (she had to be at least in her third trimester), standing in a back yard gazing at a kiddie pool. Her husband, also naked, was mowing the lawn.

At that very instant, visions of me, naked as a jaybird and holding a weed-wacker flooded my brain.

Obviously, I was forced to decline.

I’m sorry…but cellulite and lawn care equipment are neither sexy or artistic, not matter how hard you try.

8. Speaking of mowing the lawn….I’ve never actually done it.

It’s not that I’m lazy or afraid to get my hands dirty.

It’s more that my dad is a control freak, and always feared we wouldn’t do it right. In all honesty…forbidding me to come into contact with a lawn mower was probably a very good call.

His mentality was when it came to most chores and household duties, he was the only person who knew how to do things “the right way”. This is the reason why I had also never done a load of laundry until starting college. I spent an entire month washing my garments with nothing but fabric softener before my roommate was kind enough to give me a lesson.

9. I don’t mean to brag…but I’m  a pretty good dancer.

I figure that the good Lord gave me a big bootie for a reason–and that reason is to shake it.

I’ve been contemplating uploading a home video of my skillz on the blog, but am still feeling a little sheepish. Maybe if you leave lots of encouraging comments, I’ll consider it.

Maybe.

(Side note: Scott is also a fantastic dancer, but we have two totally different styles and senses of rhythm. Watching us on the dance floor is kind of hilarious. And by hilarious I mean painful.)

10. My pet name is “Trats”

Scott’s actually had a series of pet names for me which date way back to when we first started dating in 2003. It started with “Pumpkin Butt” which soon evolved to “Poopy Butt”, and then finally became “Mrs. Poopy”.

There have been dozens more over the years, but “Trats” is the most recent, and has stuck for a good twelve months. It derives from the word “Treats”, which just happens to be our dog Jolie’s favorite word. For some reason, Scott started referring to everything as a treat, including his wife. He eventually decided he didn’t like the letter “e” and shortened it to “Trats”.

Variations include “Trattles”, “Treatsie Girl” “Tratsies” and my personal favorite, “KaTrats”.

*****

There you have it. Ten things you probably didn’t care to know about me — or as I like to call it, ”Ten reasons why Us Weekly has failed to call for an interview”.

But if they do call, I’ll totally be using “KaTrats Taylor” as my celebrity stage name.

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Running with daddy 2

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Yes, I still call my father “daddy”.

And no, it’s not creepy. It’s sweet.

When I hit 40? Then it will be creepy.

I was really glad my dad suggested going for a father daughter run yesterday afternoon. I haven’t gone in a few days as I’ve been staying in Parkland, and have no one to come with protect me. I’m just going to be frank here — unless getting curb stomped is your idea of a good time, don’t go running in Parkland alone. I’m allowed to say this as I grew up here, and have parents who were mugged a few blocks from our house earlier this year. Plus, while I’ve clearly never been curb stomped, I’ve had men in creepy vans try to pick me up on more occasions than I care to remember. I’m also pretty sure the neighbor’s horse farm is a coverup for a meth lab.

This be the ‘hood.

And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way. But that still doesn’t mean I want to go jogging alone.

Luckily, dad was prepared to throw down if necessary.

Dad with garden clippers

Clipping is the new curb stomping. (Also…now do you see who I get my lack of eyebrows from?)

Okay…so he didn’t bring these along with the intention of hurting anyone. He was actually looking for dead blackberry vines. Last night was Good Friday, and he wanted to craft a homemade crown of thorns to place on the altar at church. Apparently he discovered the Easter crafts section on Pinterest.

I can’t say I was all that surprised…he has a bizarre habit of carrying weapons for totally unusual purposes. For years he kept a giant machete in the backseat of his pickup truck. I always assumed it was for self-defense, until he explained to me one day that it was for on-the-go watermelon slicing.

Of course. I mean…why wouldn’t you slice watermelon with an old world sledge-hammer?

But again — this is Parkland. You can never be too careful. Crown of thorns or street fight…I felt safer having dad with clippers in hand.

My dad is almost sixty-four years old, and in excellent shape. He warned me that he was “getting older” and “not able to run like he used to” because of his faulty knees and a recent back surgery. “You’ll have to go slow for me, Trina…”, he warned.

He then proceeded to continuously lap me for sixty minutes while repeatedly asking, “Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

Oh…and then there was the part where he ran ahead of me and did twenty pull-ups on the PLU track equipment before catching up with me again and asking if I was ready to “sprint the straights.”

I desperately struggled to keep up. This was my view the entire time.

Confession: I’m totally jealous of my dad’s shapely, hairless legs.

I’m just glad he was fully clothed. Anyone who knows my dad understands he has a habit of wearing as little clothing as possible during his two favorite pastimes: running, and sunbathing.

The fact that he’s actually wearing full length shorts and a t-shirt is nothing short of miraculous.

In related news, I literally received this note from my sister while typing that last sentence. Talk about timing.

Hayley text message sunbathing

I think this proves that nearly naked running/sunbathing is a dominant genetic trait.

I rolled my eyes and thanked my lucky stars that I hadn’t inherited such immodesty. And then I remembered the incident at the naked spa and realized invisible eyebrows weren’t the only thing my dad’s passed on to me.

We had neared the end of our five-mile run, the finale of which was running up a very long, very steep hill to the cul-de-sac my parents live in. To this day, I still desperately want to impress my dad. I ran up next to him, yelled out “I’m going to eat this hill for dinner!”, and sprinted with all my might.

It was torture.

But dad made it all worth it. “Wow, Trina! You’ve really gotten into good shape. Your legs looked strong on that hill!”

Shapely and hairless, no? But I’ll take strong any day. Especially when it’s coming from this guy.

Dad and Katrina

Love you, daddy.

Yup, still saying “daddy.” Deal with it.

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Recycling is gangsta

Recycling is gangsta 3

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I’d like for you to meet my good friend, Shakira.

Shakira

She makes a man want to speak Spanish

Sorry…not that Shakira. Not that I have anything wrong with the Latin songstress and her peanut butter voice of wonder.

It’s just that the Shakira I was referring to is far more glamorous.

Shakira the coffee cup

She makes a man want to drink lattes

There’s a She Wolf in the coffee.

Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

So how did this jewel-encrusted coffee goddess come to be?

Shakira was not born. Shakira was forged. Forged from a perfect storm of heartbreak and recycling.

It all started when my phone rang a few Saturdays ago. I picked up only to hear the solemn voice of my younger sister Hayley on the other end. In a calm and composed tone, she simply asked, “Can I come over? Justin and I just broke up.”

For those of you who don’t speak “girl”, this roughly translates to “Let’s eat, drink, and bedazzle the heck out of something.”

Luckily, I minored in bedazzling while at college.

Alright, technically I didn’t have a minor…but if I did, it would have definitely been bedazzling.

Or possibly over sharing. Whatever.

Once Hayley arrived, our first order of business was a trip to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner. I had been dying to make these miniature chicken pot pies I spotted on Pinterest, and tonight seemed to be the perfect occasion.

And then it happened.

On our way to the cheese section, there was a miracle on Aisle 3.  In a serendipitous turn of events, we happened to stumble across the Holy Land of holiday pastries.

I give you, “The sample table so magnificent, I thought it might be a mirage”:

Samples at QFC grocery store

You say samples, I say therapy.

This just may have been the most glorious display of simple carbohydrates and refined sugars I had ever laid eyes on. It was as if the fine people at QFC somehow knew about the breakup, and had offered this spread to us as their own personal way of saying “It’s OK with us if you just want to eat your feelings.”

The best part? The table was unattended, meaning no one would bear witness to the carnage that occurs when a member of the W. family encounters a spread of free samples. We were free to have all of the glory, with none of the judgement.

Hayley wasn’t actually hungry, but I made sure to try two of everything. You know, just to make sure the pastry paradise wasn’t a figment of my imagination, or something.

And that’s all I’m going to say about Hurricane Katrina’s destruction of the QFC bakery section.

********

We arrived at JoAnn Fabrics (Scott’s favorite weekend destination), with a mission.

A mission to prove, once and for all, that rhinestones are better than boys.

After deciding glitter-ized birdhouses were kind of lame, and decoupaging craft letters is so 2009, we stumbled across these bad boys.

Copco reusable coffee cups

Diamonds...er...rhinestones in the rough

Scott has been hounding me for months about how wasteful it is to use a new cup every time I visit Starbucks. He’s kind of a recycling Nazi. I never knew why he cared so much about recycling and composting, until a visit to his mother’s house a few years back.

She showed me a home video circa 1997 of him performing a rap (complete with choreography and school-appropriate gang signs) about recycling during a junior high school assembly.

Suddenly, I understood why Scott makes beat boxing noises while chanting “Turn it off! Turn it off! Saaaaavvveeee the power! Turn it off! Turn it off! Ruuuunnnnning water!” every time I’m in the shower.

Or as mix-master Scottie would put it, “Errrtime I’m in da shower.”

Arapahoe Public School District, I blame you for this.

I soon realized that by transforming a reusable coffee cup into a marvelous array of rhinestones, I would:

1. Save the planet

2. Look just a little bit more like the 27-year-old version of Rainbow Brite

3. Get Scott off my back about the whole paper coffee cup thing

4. Breathe new life into Shakira’s lack lustre musical career

So really, everybody wins.

********

Fueled by the miniature pot pies, Hayley and I began to bedazzle.

Hayley’s cup turned out slightly more subtle tasteful than mine.

Shirley Temple, the coffee cup

This cup is like Shakira’s younger, sweeter, more innocent sister who wouldn’t dare shake her hips in someone’s face or crawl dramatically through a pile of mud while singing a semi-generic pop song.

She would on the other hand wink, gingerly hand you a giant lollipop and then blow a kiss over her shoulder before tap dancing into the sunset.

It is for these reasons my brother Janss suggested we name her Shirley Temple.

Shirley Temple

"Oh, gee! A coffee cup named after me?"

Technically, his exact words were “You should name her after that really annoying girl from a hundred years ago with the curly hair who likes to make faces.”, but we knew who he meant.

Side Note: I still want Hayley to drink an actual Shirley Temple out of  the Shirley Temple cup (genius, right?), but apparently she’s too good to ingest a little high-fructose corn syrup. I suppose that means the lollipops are also out.

I just want to say that in no way shape or form do these coffee cups represent the personalities of my sister and I.

Hayley and Katrina

Seriously? She's wearing a medal while holding a baby? I haven't even been given a fair chance.

Okay, okay, fine. So maybe she’s the Shirley, and I’m the Shakira.

At least I’m not like, Lindsay Lohan, or anything.

I wish I could say the same for my coffee cup.

Lindsay Lohan Coffee Cup

She's seen better days

Let’s be honest — this cup is one reality show away from a not-so-ladylike photo shoot.

I suppose this means it’s back to the disposable Starbucks cups.

Snoop Scottie Scott won’t be too happy about this.

Although every legitimate rapper does need a blinged out pimp cup.

Scott loves Shakira the coffee cup

This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship

UPDATE: Scott and The coffee cup formerly known as Shakira were BFFs for about ten minutes. Then she went all Lohan on him (removing all of her clothes rhinestones) and was promptly returned to me.

Not gonna lie, I kind of like her better in her “naked” state. The rhinestones might have been a bit…um…much.

So, it looks like I will end up saving the planet, one latte at a time.

Coffee Love

In keeping with the theme of celebrity names, Shakira now goes by "Rooney". As in Rooney Mara from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. It seemed like a good fit as they both seem to have a penance for nudity.

 

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